Having the last name Bartlett, I have a natural-born fondness for pears. It makes sense. One of my favorites that’s commercially grown, thus widely available, is the sweet little seckel. (Sorry Bartletts!) They are sweet – you’ll sometimes find them labeled sugar pears – and they have a dense flesh. I’ve been told they… Read more»

I know that I use the words, “my favorite” frequently, but please understand that the “best” in these cinnamon buns is really no exaggeration. At least I can say they converted me from feeling ho-hum about this breakfast gluttony to waking early just to pounce on the lot. Over the past two weeks I’ve… Read more»

I have to admit that I’ve used Mid-Market in conversation as an example before – and not a good one – when people prejudge Oakland. The rant’s gone something like this, depending on the degree of the offense: “Why does everyone think Oakland is grungy? Have they ever been to downtown San Francisco? Just… Read more»

The Salton Sea – California’s largest lake – is also one of the most ignored bodies of water in the state. Few have visited, and even fewer have a grasp of the Salton Sea story. The state park is slated to close July 1. On my trip to the area I had a wonderful… Read more»

Depending on the geography, the experience of making a Top Ten list can vary greatly. In San Francisco there are certain undeniables (you can’t miss the de Young!) that have to be juggled with the up-and-coming things that aren’t on every explorers’ radar. In rural areas like Big Sur, there aren’t as many places… Read more»

Hi, I'm Serena. I'm curious to a fault, and I have a knack for seeking out the most authentic and exceptional spots around Northern California and beyond.

The bright lights of the marquee over Downtown Berkeley’s Freight and Salvage Theater are usually unconventional: “Learn Banjo, Ukelele, Asleep at the Wheel Western Swing, One Night Only – The Haydn Project.” The glow emanates down onto the sidewalk, filling my pathway from the nearby garage with a pool of light. Watching my footsteps, Ican make out inlaid poems and low-lying sculptures worn into the pavement on this block of Addison Street, where the economic struggles of Shattuck Avenue tends not to trickle. This area is padded with culture. There is the Aurora Playhouse and The Berkeley Jazz School tucked into the bricks and stoic concrete facades.

The Freight and Salvage has offered concerts since the late 70’s, although this current location is new in the last few years. It still refers to itself as a coffee… Read more»

Fort Mason on a Sunday. Farmers’ Market stalls laden with early November tomatoes, a reminder of drought, a meaty breeze blowing from the German sausage stand, pregnant women toddling in hoards towards a baby fair, serious couples with striped shirts and sophisticated sunglass frames and Jack Russell terriers, a line of bearded men and their friends pouring out of Greens to Go restaurant, seagulls and grackles fluttering for detritus. It is a supremely San Franciscan chaos, full of all the signs that this city is being itself.

I climbed above the Italian Institute in building C where ten first graders where attacking a horse sculpture up the iron staircase where I was promised a glimpse at art. I am beginning to second guess the use of that word, coming from a school of thought that doesn’t agree a person… Read more»

Driving along Shattuck Avenue from North Oakland to North Berkeley I sometimes feel like I am sharing the road with giant Gobstoppers, colorful, uncoordinated balls of saccharine. It’s a sort of transportational dodgeball on a crowded weekend afternoon. My mother reminds me to start our parking mantra early: “a perfect parking place is now opening up for our use.” It always works when she does it.

We find ourselves squarely in front of our chosen restaurant. Saul’s gives me a reprieve from the indecisive rush outside, the smells of chicken broth and steaming corn beef could convey even the most hardened Berkeleyite to comfort. The place is only shuttered for Yom Kippur, Thanksgiving, and New Year’s Day – for the other 362 days it plays living room to a panoply of people.

Steel and glass and succulents outline the Santa Barbara Public Market, a paradise of flavor that opened its doors this April 14th. The well-lit market greeted me with wafts of desire. Upon entering, I thought I had been transported to Manhattan’s Eataly or some futuristic iteration of the Reading Terminal Market I grew up salivating over.

I passed by a glass case of fresh pasta – squid ink strands and striped torteloni, hand-formed orichiette and bands of papardelle. To my right was a bank of tinted glass barrels full of golden green olive oils, all harvested in California, sat ready for tasting. Passing by Culture Counter I learned about Brillant Savarign cheese, how to pronounce it and the about the eponymous general from a consummate Frenchman with sophisticated glasses frames. Cases of aged beef and whole corvina cradled a busy noodle bar and a… Read more»

Eating a plateful of matzoh brei got me thinking. Not of the escaped slaves fleeing across deserts with no time for leavening, but of baseball. And Oakland.

Will the A’s stay or will they go? This question has been itching the back of my brain for years now, teasing with the taunts of Fremont, Jack London Square, and now the Coliseum City project, which is not quite settled.

After there seemed a lull in talk about the A’s moving south to Fremont, I was shocked back to attention when I talked to Peerless Coffee and East Bay Restaurant Supply’s second and third generation owners. They told me there was an idea of calling imminent domain and creating a new ballpark on their footprints in the eastern part of Jack London Square. It would be hard, even impossible for them to relocate within city limits.